


Shattered

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort Sex, F/M, First Time, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco didn't notice when he set the coffee down on the edge of his manuscript and it tipped, blurring the words as coffee spilled over ink. He didn't notice when the owl left. He didn't realize that he left the door to his small flat unlocked, or that the coffee slowly dripped onto the floor. He saw nothing but the words that he had read from the paper, stained by his mother's tears.</p><p>Lucius Malfoy was dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> This story is backstory for the version of Draco played in A Fortiori.

The news came by International Owl to find him at his flat in France, the bird pecking at his hand to distract him from the words Draco diligently put to paper. He set aside the quill and distractedly gave the owl a treat as he took the letter. He opened it, barely noting the Malfoy seal in wax that held it closed, a small spell keyed to himself keeping it from accidentally opening while in transit. He reached for his coffee, taking a sip as he began to read.

He didn't notice when he set the coffee down on the edge of his manuscript and it tipped, blurring the words as coffee spilled over ink. He didn't notice when the owl left. He didn't realize that he left the door to his small flat unlocked, or that the coffee slowly dripped onto the floor. He saw nothing but the words that he had read from the paper, stained by his mother's tears.

Lucius Malfoy was dead.

#

The sun had set by the time footsteps caught at his hearing, soft click-clacks upon stone as someone made her way through the gardens towards where he sat amongst the blooming roses. "Hello, Amelia," he greeted her without looking, knowing that no one else would think to look here for him.

"We've had news from London." She crouched next to him, fingertips light against his shoulder for contact and balance. She spoke in English in response to his greeting, almost as if she weren't sure he'd understand French at a time like this. Perhaps he wouldn't. In some ways, it felt odd to be hearing her voice and parsing the words into sense as it was.

"I've heard," he said simply. "An owl from my mother."

"I'm sorry."

Draco blinked at her, grey eyes pale and wide. "Are you? I'm quite certain there was no love lost for Lucius Malfoy in the British government, and I doubt the French loved him any more."

"That wasn't an official opinion, Draco," Amelia said dryly. "It was personal. We are friends, are we not?"

Were they? Draco supposed so, for some definition of friend wherein the Ministry watcher befriended her criminal prey, without taking no for an answer. There were moments when that thought made him smile, but not today. "Oui," he said quietly.

"Do you miss him?" Her hand drifted up to touch his hair, brushing the pale blond strands from his face.

Draco had to laugh. "I am nowhere near drunk enough to answer that question properly, Ami."

She pushed back to her feet, one hand out to help him up. As he joined her, she linked her arm with his without so much as a by your leave, but Draco allowed it, his hand over hers where it rested in the crook of her elbow. "Then we shall have to remedy that," she told him. "Immediately."

#

He had two pints before dinner, three glasses of wine while they dined, and two double shots of firewhiskey once they were back at his flat and the table had been cleaned. The room was spinning vaguely, the colours muffled and sounds remote. He sprawled on the sofa, his head in Amelia's lap while she toyed with his hair, much like Pansy used to do.

Perhaps now he had finally had enough to drink.

"Yes, perhaps, in a manner of speaking," he mused, words selected carefully and spoken slowly, the slur barely audible. "He was my father, after all. By convention, I must, therefore, have loved him as a son would. And yet--" His voice trailed off, the thought not lost, but too complicated to be expressed in words that Draco could find at that moment. He thought they might be located in the bottom of another glass, but that would require sitting up, and at the moment, he was comfortable.

"Did you hate him?"

When had Amelia's voice grown so soft and husky? He didn't remember if it was like that all the time, or if that were something that happened only after she, too, had drunk enough to be pleasantly warm and comfortable with him. "Oui," Draco admitted. "After all, for all that he claimed to be making me stronger, he never gave me a chance to make a decision that wasn't already scripted long before it was there to be made. He claimed that I should control my life, then kept that control for himself. Even now--"

"Oui?" Amelia's fingers threaded through his hair, quite a pleasant feeling to be touched like that. "Even now?"

The thought had fled, whatever he meant to say when he began that sentence. He sought for it, not quite able to capture it again when his mind kept flitting back to the soft feel of Amelia touching him. "Even now, everything he made me, hangs over my head." He lifted one hand, letting it hang in the air in front of them both. "I have to go home, for the funeral. He is dead, and yet, he brings me back."

His fingers drifted to her face, lightly touching her cheek, surprised by how soft her skin felt. "He loved me," Draco murmured. "I believe he did. And he loved my mother, as much as any arranged marriage could become love."

"I thought you didn't believe in love." Amelia leaned down, her lips brushing his fringe. "That it was an excuse manufactured for an affair."

"Or an emotional explanation for a physical desire to be close. Men have _needs_." The word came out with heavy weight and derision. "Women's needs are emotional. They want to hear of love and sweet things before they give men what it is that they need in turn."

When her lips brushed his, he felt it as warmth coiling in his gut, felt a pull through his groin that he hadn't expected. Needs, _yes_ ; his fingers tightened in her hair, tugging her closer. "Ami--"

"Don't lie," she murmured against his mouth. "Just let go."

Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, opening the collar so she could slip inside, fingertips grazing against his collarbone. He felt the connection, like she drew his soul out of him with that simple touch, control slipping with a soft gasp.

It was strange how out of focus the rest of the room was, while Amelia remained completely in focus to Draco's eyes. He sat up slowly, hands sliding to cradle her face as he leaned in, claiming her mouth with increasing hunger. He shifted his seat, straddling her on the couch as he nudged her back, listening to her moan as he settled over her hips.

"Oui," she whispered when he hesitated, and he took that as a request, taking her mouth again.

Somehow her blouse was gone, her trousers disappearing as well, leaving her bare except for scraps of silk, naked to his hungry gaze. His mouth drifted over her skin, tasting each spot curiously, waiting for the soft sigh or gasp, then trying it again to see if that was what she needed.

Giving this to her gave him the excuse to take what he needed at the same time, drinking in the feel of her stretching under his control. His teeth closed over the small nub hidden by her bra, silk soaked quickly by his tongue as he teased her, learning what made her whimper. He suckled carefully, then with sudden hunger, pulled the bra down to expose her nipple, peeking over the fabric, and took it in his mouth again.

A strong pull brought an equally strong cry from her, her fingers twisting in his hair as she cried his name. Yes. That. He wanted to reduce her to cries and whimpers, to screaming until she went limp.

It didn't occur to him that she might have the same goal for him.

She plucked at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them so quickly that one popped off and flew away. He shrugged his shoulders, helping her slide he shirt down his arms. He didn't need his hands right now when he had his tongue, lapping at her skin. She helped by unhooking the clasp at the front of her bra, and he nudged it aside with his teeth. She wasn't generously built, perhaps a handful, a little more than a mouthful. But he tried anyway, curious not only how much he could manage, but how she liked it; he moved back to grazing teeth against her nipple when he realized that made her cries louder, made her hips shift to press against his.

Merlin, but it felt good.

He had never let go, not like this. Not letting his body follow its every whim, no matter what that was. He had never had some laid before him, open and honest and merely wanting. Wanting him.

A part of his mind thought the couch was not the right place for his first time.

It was quickly overridden by desperate need as he slipped her knickers off and caught her blooming scent for the first time, rich and musky. His fingers ghosted over thick curls, darker than the pale blond hair on her head, but still lighter than he'd expected somehow. When her hips lifted, he followed instinct and let one finger part those curls, delving to see what lay beneath. He stroked through the soft, wet folds, pausing when her hand gripped his wrist, waiting while she showed him where to touch. It seemed such a small spot to bring as much pleasure as it did. He let the pad of his thumb drift over it, rolling as if it were over the head of his own cock, fascinated by the way her hips shifted, and the shudders that overtook her.

"Draco--" Her voice was strangled, and she grabbed his hand, not letting him move as her legs clamped together, trapping him there. Her body tensed, then fell back against the sofa as her eyes opened.

For a moment he wondered if that were to be it, but no, her fingers were at his waist, opening his trousers. He shed them quickly, not questioning this. There were no more words, just him settling between her legs, and the slick sense of her wrapping around his cock as he thrust and slid along her folds. That might almost be enough, but she tilted her hips, and he slid inside.

Nothing else felt like this. Nothing.

He was inside of her and she surrounded him. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her throat as he groaned, her legs wrapping around his thighs to pull him close. They moved, finding a rhythm until Draco wasn't entirely certain where he ended and where she began. He felt her kisses on his throat, her hands upon his back. He felt her tighten around him as he tilted his hips, driving deeply into her, and he felt her spasm and pull him into her even more than before.

The whole world shattered then, into bright lights and brilliance, falling into the sea of stars that surrounded him. He poured himself into her deeply, felt her answering shudders as she accepted his offering of self.

He felt naked when it was done, as if there was nothing left to armor him any more. Her hand slid over his back and found his soul beneath as she traced the scar that ran from neck to hip. He shuddered again as cool wet drops slipped over his cheeks and fell against her skin.

And Amelia cradled him there, keeping him safe and warm as he found his way back to normal, and put his walls in place.

Draco could see why men confessed love to gain this, and why they confessed love after experiencing it. It was a connection beyond anything he had ever known, and he wasn't certain how comfortable he was with it. But he did know, now that he had been here, he could never go back to what he was before.

He slid out of her, wedging himself between the back of the couch and Amelia, holding her close so that she wouldn't fall off.

"Let go," she whispered again.

And it seemed such a reasonable request, after shattering his world as she had, that he did.

Draco cried.


End file.
